Ha'iole Redux
by praemonitus praemunitus
Summary: This is a short missing scene from the Season 2 opener.  Just how did Steve end up on the bathroom floor of Max Bergman's apartment?  Steve's POV.  Spoiler alert  just a fair warning .
1. Chapter 1

A/N Okay, so I know I haven't finished my other story yet, but this plot bunny just wouldn't leave me alone. It's a bit awkward and rushed and short, but it was just one of those obsessive ideas that wouldn't go away until I put it down on paper (khm, screen). So I hope you like it.

Also, I must issue a spoiler warning, since this story deals with the episode that some of you may not have seen yet.

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><p>A horn blared loudly, slamming into his consciousness, and he jerked his head up just in time to see himself sailing into the oncoming traffic. Heart hammering wildly against his ribcage, he wrenched the steering wheel to the right, swerving back into his own lane. The sharp movement echoed in his torn abdomen, bringing with it an explosion of pain that threatened to pull him under. His vision darkened dangerously, and he gritted his teeth, blinking furiously to clear away the encroaching blackness. <em>This isn't good.<em>

The hands holding the wheel trembled with the effort of keeping the car straight, and Steve knew his body well enough to know that in a very short while that effort will prove to be too much. He needed a plan. And fast. Because in a few more minutes exhaustion and blood loss will have the upper hand, and Victor's clever little scheme will be smashed into bits like this squad car against an oncoming truck.

_"Focus, McGarrett_," he hissed, as his grip slipped again, making the car lurch sideways. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and he risked pulling one hand away to wipe it off.

First things first - the bleeding had to be stopped. Otherwise he was as good as dead. He needed some gauze and bandages and maybe something to stitch up that hole in his belly. Those items were readily available in any local pharmacy. The problem was that his "borrowed" uniform was now completely soaked in blood from the waist down, and he couldn't exactly walk into a pharmacy looking like that. So where to then?

The ex-SEAL thought feverishly, running through his meager options in his mind. And then suddenly a familiar street name came into view and he almost laughed in relief. His decision made, he turned into the nearest side street, nearly crashing the car into an overfilled dumpster that blocked almost half the alley. Beside being a dangerous obstacle, however, the dumpster also provided him with a perfect hiding place for his stolen vehicle, and Steve counted his blessings.

Using the wall as much (if not more) for support as for cover, he stumbled along the shaded alleyways toward a small grey building that, if his memory served him correctly, housed the apartment of one Max Bergman, the city's medical examiner. It wasn't so much Max himself that Steve was hoping to find, though. In fact, he was kind of counting on the fact that Max wouldn't even be there. What he did hope for was an ample supply of those much needed items that would help get him patched up and back on his feet. With any luck, he'd be gone before Max even gets home.

That was the plan. And it was a good one. At least that's what he kept telling himself when his feet nearly gave out twice and only sheer force of will kept him from face-diving into the ground. And it worked, too. All the way up until he broke into the apartment through a side window and his hand, slick with blood, slipped on the table that he leaned on for support. His arms flailed, knocking down a table lamp, as he scrambled desperately for purchase. But it was all in vain, as nothing but empty air met his awkward attempts, and he crashed hard onto the unforgiving floor.

A deluge of pain swept over him, robbing him of breath, as he lay rigid and unmoving, clinging to the faint shreds of consciousness. _"Nice going there, Rambo. Real smooth,"_ a familiar voice taunted in his mind, and Steve growled weakly in frustration. _"Get out of my head, Danno."_

Pushing himself up on his elbows - a task that cost him more time and effort than he would have liked, Steve looked around, his hazy gaze falling on a partially open bathroom door. _Bingo_.

He moved to stand, instantly regretting that decision, as the room spun violently, nearly toppling him back onto the floor. _"Okay, okay. Crawling it is._"

And so he dragged himself painfully forward, perfectly aware of the bloody trail he was leaving behind in Max's living room but no longer finding the energy to care. By the time he reached the bathroom, black stars danced in his vision, and he was finding it more and more difficult to keep his head upright. Digging his teeth viciously into his bottom lip, he squinted up at the fuzzy contours of a medicine cabinet. It hung there above the sink, hopelessly out of reach, taunting him with its unattainability.

Steve closed his eyes in defeat, letting his head drop bonelessly onto the floor. _How could he hope to reach it, when he didn't even have the strength to get up on his knees? But what other choice did he have?_ He sighed deeply, allowing his exhausted body this brief moment of respite.

A moment later, the dark blue eyes opened, blazing with desperate resolve. Using the sink cabinet for support, the former SEAL slowly began to pull himself up, ignoring the protests of his weakened body. Jaws clenched with enough force to shatter the teeth, limbs trembling with weakness and effort, he inched closer and closer to his goal, until his legs gave out, and his strength was suddenly no more.

Limp fingers slid off the edge of the sink, and he toppled backwards, landing in an awkward heap against the wall. His last conscious thought was that Max was gonna be pretty pissed when he finds that lamp.

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><p>That's that. Let me know what you think. Please?<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Okay, I just gotta say - WOW! You, guys, have totally floored me with all the responses. Thank you all so much! I really wasn't planning on having this story be anything more than a short missing scene, but given all the requests for more (which are so greatly appreciate, by the way) and the fact that I forgot to mark the story "Complete", I decided to give it a try. :)

So here's a short continuation from the previous chapter - the missing scene from Max's point of view (as per your requests :). I don't know if I got the quirky scientist right, but, hopefully, the scene won't be disappointing.

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><p>Chapter 2 - Max<p>

For someone with such an insatiably curious mind, Max Bergman was not a particularly observant man. Not when it came to his surroundings. When he was a child, his mother used to complain that he was always lost in his own little world. Max didn't argue the point. In fact, he was perfectly content to remain in that little world of his even now. Except that today the real world found a way to brazenly intrude upon the blissful seclusion of his private universe by dumping an unconscious and bleeding leader of the 5-0 task force in the middle of his normally pristine bathroom.

For several long minutes Max simply stood unmoving in the doorway, staring at the scene before him with a mixture of confusion and morbid fascination. The insistent voice droning something in his ear brought him out of his trance, reminding him of the emergency number he'd dialed only moments ago. He suddenly became aware once again of the weight of the umbrella in his right hand - his improvised weapon, and the weight of the phone in his left. Hastily mumbling an apology to the 911 operator, he gently set both items onto the floor and taking great care to avoid the tall, limp form sprawled on the cold tiles walked over to the medicine cabinet. Grabbing a pair of latex gloves, he put them on with the same methodically unhurried, deliberate manner and settled himself on the floor next to his unexpected visitor. His hand hovered above the bloody makeshift bandage, but curiosity quickly trumped caution, and the scientist in him broke forth unable to hold back in the face of this new intriguing development. Pulling the bandage aside, Max peered closely at the still bleeding wound, mentally cataloguing the injury in much the same way as he did with any other body that came through his lab. 

_"Small jagged tear. Likely a sharp metal object. Seems a bit cruder than a knife, though. Might be a..."_

He probed the wound, trying to get a better grasp on his theory, when a sudden moan of pain nearly had him jump out of his skin. He stared wide-eyed at the still unconscious man, as if only now becoming aware of his presence. Normally his patients didn't mind his ministrations. Then again, he never had a live patient before, and Max the man actually felt a twinge of guilt for letting Max the scientist run away with him.

Whispering a useless apology, he went back to the medicine cabinet, pulling out a wealth of supplies that his patient was so desperately trying to obtain when he broke into this home over half an hour ago.

All the needed items at hand, the medical examiner set about to work on the wound, gently and carefully this time, throwing periodic cautious glances at his patient's face to reassure himself that the latter was still blissfully knocked out.

Once the wound was cleaned, stitched up and freshly bandaged, Max leaned back, admiring his handiwork. Nodding to himself in silent approval, he cringed almost instantly as his gaze fell on the discarded blood-soaked clothing and blood-smeared tile.

_"This will not do."_

Cleanliness was something Max appreciated from a very early age, and this mess was glaring him in the face like an improperly dressed fan at a Star Trek Convention. He needed to clean this up, but first he should probably move the Commander to a more comfortable place. He grabbed the taller man under his arms and dragged him back out into the living room, stopping when he reached the couch. He hesitated briefly, sizing up this new obstacle. Then blowing out a quick breath to strengthen his resolve, he heaved his unresponsive load onto the leather cushions. The man whimpered softly, the bloodless lips parting to release a soft and barely audible "Dan-no". But consciousness was still out of reach, and the man grew quiet again, his head lolling limply to the side.

Max frowned worriedly, feeling an odd sense of protectiveness for this uncharacteristically helpless and vulnerable Commander. Reaching out on an impulse, he patted the man gently on the shoulder, but withdrew almost instantly, embarrassed by such atypical display of affection.

Then, as he was about to move away, a thought occurred to him, and he glanced back at his patient, a smile of realization lighting his features. _"Danno. He must have meant Detective Williams. I should probably give him a call."_

That decided, Max returned to the bathroom where he discarded his phone, grabbing a can of bleach and some old rags on the way.

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><p>That's how I pictured it. Now I'll be anxiously awaiting to hear what you think. (hint, hint :-)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N You, guys, are amazing! I am so humbled by all the wonderful reviews. And all those requests for Danny's POV. I didn't think I could write one for that particular scene - I had something different in mind. But once I sat down, this story just popped out. It was very unexpected and definitely unplanned, so I'm not sure how this works exactly (whether it even works at all), but it was just one of those things that wrote itself. So... let me know what you think on this one.

I think this is it for that particular missing scene (I know, I said I planned to be "done" with the 1st chapter, but, really, this is it ;-), but I do have another scene in mind that has been bugging me since last Monday. An idea's been swirling around in my head, and I'll see if I can make it work into another short chapter. If it works, it would be another Steve-centric chapter.

Thank you again, you wonderful-wonderful audience! I hope I don't disappoint you with this installment.

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><p>Chapter 3 - Danny (the phone calls)<p>

On a good day Danny Williams was a rational man. He could take a step back, collect himself and let his cool and calculating detective brain do the thinking and talking for him. The problem was, however, that Danny Williams was **not** having a very good day. Or a very good week, for that matter. Within a matter of mere hours he went from being on top of the world to having his entire world crumble around him. The very real possibility of permanently reuniting with and even expanding his family with Rachel, of finally abandoning the pineapple-infested hellhole that was Hawaii and returning to his beloved New Jersey was vaporized like a dew drop on a sunny morning. All because his walking nitroglycerin of a partner couldn't keep his emotions in check and exploded all over the governor's mansion. The little Pac-Man in cargo pants surfaced once again to devour Danny's dream of being a family man.

Since then things have gone from bad to worse. And today... today was rapidly approaching the apogee of that FUBARed spiral.

First there was a phone call from Rachel, where she informed him in the same breath that he was not the expected father that she had led him to believe he was and that she was moving back to Hawaii to work things out with her latest ex.

Then there was another call from the prison officials informing him that McGarrett got shanked in prison by none other than Victor Hesse. In all honesty, knowing the hatred that the Irishman harbored for the ex-SEAL, Danny feared the worst.

Turns out, Danny's definition of "the worst" - i.e., a dead McGarrett, was merely a close second to what actually took place. An escape. A freaking prison break. Naturally, in McGarrett's twisted world there could be no better way of getting into the good graces with all law enforcement officers than by escaping from an ambulance after knocking out both the transporting officer and the paramedic. That was the gist of the third phone call that Danny received that day.

The fourth phone call came as he and Chin were driving around town hoping to spot their wayward orange-clad team leader. Apparently McGarrett managed to raise the insanity up another notch by attacking a uniformed police officer, beating him into unconsciousness and taking off with the man's uniform, weapons and car. He was now officially considered armed and dangerous. Potentially liable to be shot on sight.

An old saying came to Danny's mind just then. Something about it being impossible to ever hit rock bottom, because any time you think you can't go any lower, someone is always there to hand you a shovel. McGarrett was definitely that someone. And something was telling Danny that his partner was not yet done digging.

That was when detective Williams began to fear the phone.

When it rang again, he gripped the steering wheel so tightly that he was sure his fingers actually left an impression in the rubber, and it was all he could do not to give in to his suddenly overwhelming desire to grab the hated device and chuck it out the window.

Thankfully, Chin was there. And Chin understood. And Danny didn't have to be the one to answer that goddamn contraption. He listened to the snippets of conversation, trying not to dwell too much on words like "bleeding" and "consciousness". He tried to keep it together by focusing hard on the road before him, as Chin told him in that infuriatingly calm manner of his that Steve had somehow ended up at their M.E.'s apartment and that they should head over there.

He didn't ask the details. Didn't want to hear them. Didn't want to know how bad things have gotten at this point.

But once he stepped through that door and saw his wild-eyed partner standing in the middle of Max's living room with a gun pointed at them, looking very much like a cornered animal about to strike, Danny lost his grip on all things rational. Frustration , fear and worry that had his insides in a vice-like grip since the early morning uncoiled like a black mamba, striking out before his brain even had a chance to catch up with the words that were leaving his mouth.

Steve's face fell. The small loosening of relief upon seeing them was replaced in quick succession by incredulity, confusion and Danny's all-time favorite aneurysm face.

"Wait, why are you yelling at me?"

His voice was quiet and hoarse, and Danny was only just beginning to notice how pale the guy actually looked. But Danny's rational brain was not quite ready to take over yet.

"Have you lost your mind?" _Has he?_ The Jersey detective has been asking that same question ever since he met the guy, but today... today he was pretty certain the answer was yes.

Steve blew out a breath, and at that moment it seemed to Danny as if all the energy has left the former SEAL along with that puff of air. He suddenly seemed very tired. Exhausted even.

"What choice did I have, Danny?" The pain in his voice was tangible, and Danny broke off in the middle of his next tirade, turning away to avoid the look in Steve's eyes, which was even harder for him to bear.

Dimly he heard Chin ask the question that Danny himself was dying to ask but couldn't get past his wound-up emotional self to do it. And heard Steve's intentionally loud, "Yeah, I'm alright," directed at his retreating back.

He moved away, giving himself more space and time to wind back down, walking back and forth by the door like a caged tiger. He felt Steve's eyes on him, but couldn't bear to turn back. Not yet. Not till he was ready.

He knew he was gonna need to find a way to apologize. Knew that his friend had very little control over what had transpired. Knew that McGarrett was hurting both physically and emotionally and that he needed his ohana now more than ever. And that instead of lecturing him at the top of his voice, Danny should be taking Chin's example and showing the guy some support. Knew that he could start by giving him a break.

Yes, rationally, Danny Williams knew all those things. It was only a matter of giving himself enough time to be sufficiently calm to do it.

Of course, he should have known that on a day like today things could not possibly go his way.

His phone rang again. Time was up. And Danny had to suppress the urge to drive the device through the wall.

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><p>Thoughts?<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Another long delay, but I'm finally back. I apologize for not responding to all the reviews. I read every one of them, and I loved every one of them. (You, guys, are amazingly encouraging, you know that? :-)) And I'm hoping to get better at responding in the future :) Thank you all again! You've been a terrific audience. Hope you like this last installment.

I think most everyone found the scene with Steve jumping onto Wo Fat's boat a bit disconcerting, given his previous injury. I realize that it's been done before, but here's my take on that particular scene. Enjoy.

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

The speed boat plowed forward, cutting through the blue expanse, and Steve closed his eyes briefly, relishing in the familiar feel of the wind whipping at his exposed skin, the cold refreshing spray of the ocean against his face. His tongue flicked out to lick the salty water from his lips. _"Freedom_._"_

He shook his head in mute wonder, as he thought back to the events of the past few hours that began with the sensation of Victor's shiv slicing through his flesh and ended so swiftly, so anticlimactically in front of Kamekona's shave ice stand. He didn't know what to think of all of this just yet, didn't know how to feel. He didn't allow himself time to process it all: his escape, his father's secret dealings with the Governor, Danny's car-ride confessions.

_"Danny_._" _ Steve blew out a breath that felt a hell of a lot shakier than he would have liked and forced himself to keep his eyes on the large boat ahead. Danny assured him that he was fine, that there was nothing further to discuss. _"Fine, my ass." _ He knew that look in his partner's eyes; has seen that same look staring back at him in the mirror on more than one occasion. And he trusted Danny's "fine" about as much as he did his own. The man ran himself ragged trying to get him, McGarrett, out of this mess, and now he was suffering the consequences. But then he wasn't the only one. There was Chin with his undeserved guilt over not being there openly for his friends and his ever-growing worry over Kono. And there was Kono herself with the oppressing weight of the IA investigation bearing down on her. His friends sacrificed so much for his sake, for his absolute inability to put a lid on his emotions - something that Danny warned him long ago was going to get him in trouble. He was going to make it up to them, make everything right. He wasn't sure how yet. Hasn't yet figured out the strategy. _But he will. He will_.

And his first step was going to be getting the bastard responsible for all their pain and heartaches. Now, whether Wo Fat decides to do things the easy way and let them throw him behind bars where he belongs, or whether he decides to take the hard road and go out in the blaze of glory - that would be entirely up to that man. Though Steve couldn't deny that his fingers itched for his sidearm at the mere reminder of the man's name.

The boat loomed before them, and Steve felt his heart thud painfully in his chest at its closeness. This was it. His chance to finally get the man responsible for his parents' murder; the man who took a sledgehammer to the new life he'd built for himself in Hawaii; the man who nearly destroyed his ohana and put him through hell.

A feral grin twisted his lips, as he quickly pulled out his weapon, checking the clip.

"Danny, you ready?"

The reply was in the negative, but he detected a familiar note of sarcasm in Danny's voice, and he took comfort in that. _"Maybe things actually could go back to normal?"_

"Good. Come on!"

And he jumped, secure in the knowledge that his partner had his back.

The momentum carried him forward, slamming his midsection viciously against the hull. Pain, heretofore relatively dull and inconsequential, roared into the forefront of his consciousness, blinding him to all other sensations. His grip slipped momentarily, nearly causing him to fall back into the choppy waters below. He dug his fingers into the slippery gunwale, pulling for all he was worth, until he heaved himself over the side, plopping awkwardly onto the hard water-spattered deck. Curling in on the raging inferno that was his stomach, he lay dazedly in the very spot where he had fallen, gasping for breath, as he waited for the pain to subside.

He wasn't given much of a chance. The sharp retort of a gun brought him back to his senses, and he slid sideways, gritting his teeth and returning fire even as he felt a bullet splinter the wood beside him.

Another of Wo Fat goons burst through the cabin door, and he spun to face the new threat, cringing at the way his hands shook when he fired. His aim was off, way off. Three shots to take down one guy. _"You're slipping, McGarrett."_

He pushed himself to his feet, biting back the pain, forcing it deeper into the back of his mind. He succeeded... almost. Up until he realized that Wo Fat wasn't there. After all this time, after being a hair's breadth away from catching the man who haunted his dreams, he found himself vaulted back to square one. Back to nothing. Nothing but a pile of useless dead bodies, dead ends.

A quiet whimper caught his attention, and he whirled back toward the open cabin door, remembering the second goon that he shot. _"He knew where Wo Fat was. He had to!" _Pulling the guy up by his lapels, he slammed his back against the railing, growling out his frustration.

"Wo Fat! Where is he?"

The man's response shot down any remaining hope, filling him with disappointment and nearly incapacitating despair. _He failed. Again._

Steve let go suddenly, letting his hands fall away from the crumpled sweat-covered fabric. Mumbling a weary "Book'em, Danno," he stumbled away from the still-trembling Asian, subconsciously moving closer to the gunwale.

He stood there, staring out into horizon where the bluish gray of the sky lost itself within the overpowering azure of the ocean. His nemesis was somewhere on the other side of all that vast expanse, and that realization brought with it a wave of bitterness that sullied in his mind the normally comforting blue. Now it only served to add further to his internal turmoil, taunting him with its impassive emptiness, cruelly reminding him of the enormity of his defeat.

The dull throbbing in his abdomen became a bother, and he pressed his hand against it, not surprised to feel wetness there. He pulled his hand away, gazing dully at the bright crimson that stained his palm.

"I'm bleeding," he murmured to no one in particular. And then as though this admission had unlatched something within him, unclipped the invisible restraints that have been holding him together and upright, he began to crumble to the floor, like a marionette, whose strings have been cut, no longer having the energy to break his fall.

But instead of the expected jarring impact, there was suddenly a pair of strong, familiar hands underneath him, catching his limp body, cocooning him in their safety.

He looked up blearily, finding himself staring right into the stormy blue of his partner's eyes.

"Let me guess, you're **fine**, right?" Danny observed sarcastically, his voice thick with poorly disguised worry.

Steve smiled faintly, feeling himself growing weaker with every moment. But even as the light grew dimmer, smothered by a heavy curtain of darkness, he found warmth and comfort in the protective envelope of his friend's embrace. A certainty he hadn't felt before had filled him to the very core, pushing back the crippling despair.

_"No, I'm not, Danno,"_ he thought dimly, clinging to the fading remnants of the blurry face above him, _"but I will be. We all will be."_

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><p>This is it. Yes, I meant to leave it here - no hospital scene or any such other recuperationcomfort scenes. Further treatment and recovery at a proper medical facility is to be assumed :)_  
><em>


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